


Paid in Full

by Celia_and



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Banter, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, Sugar Daddy, Texting, Twitter, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:22:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22152469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celia_and/pseuds/Celia_and
Summary: The next morning, she Googles “Ben Solo.” And when she clicks on the link to the First Order Law website and sees his photo, she realizes her “no sex” rule may have been the biggest mistake of her life.----------Rey might be the first person in the history of ever to end up in the friend zone with her sugar daddy.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 458
Kudos: 2869





	1. Agreeing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reylotrashpiler (Hosnianprime)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hosnianprime/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Оплачено](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22197781) by [Elafira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elafira/pseuds/Elafira)



> A little gift for [reylotrashpiler](https://twitter.com/reylotrashpiler), who asked for "a sugar baby au ASAP to fix some mood!"
> 
> Based on a [real tweet](https://twitter.com/oliviathepig808/status/1025613389958004738).

It was supposed to be a little funny nothing of a tweet. Rey dashes it off at 1:24 a.m. and goes to sleep, and when she wakes up it has 6.9K likes. She has hundreds of new followers, and the notifications didn’t stop. Then a couple days later Buzzfeed picks it up, which redoubles the frenzy, and it’s a solid month before she gets around to finally wading through her DMs one Friday night.

She decides to pour some wine, put music on, and curl up on the couch with a blanket and make a night of it. Her inbox is filled with a depressing mix of messages from spam accounts, crude comments from pathetic men about what they’d do to her if she was their sugar baby, and the classic “hey” “hey” “bitch.” _This generation’s duck, duck, goose,_ Rey thinks, giggling aloud. She should tweet that. Or not. She’s too funny for her own good; the hitherto unplumbed depths of her comedic genius are treacherous.

 _Maybe_ she’s a couple glasses of wine in at this point, and _maybe_ they’re those ridiculously big bulbous glasses that hold like half a bottle. That’s the only justification she can give for actually deciding to _reply_ to one of the messages.

BS1983: I’d be interested in that arrangement, if you need money. That’s not a problem. I would love to talk to you.

Rey scoffs and types back, _What are you, some kind of creeper?_ and hits send before realizing that it’s a month later, and midnight besides. This weirdo has probably forgotten all about her dumb tweet.

But the three dots appear. He’s typing. Rey downs the last of the wine.

BS1983: I don’t think so, but I’m not exactly sure what that entails.

Just Rey: Wow, full sentences, punctuation and everything. Be still my heart. Dude, what’s your deal?

BS1983: I saw your Tweet and I just wanted to talk to you. I’m sorry if I was a creeper.

Just Rey: Well if you saw my tweet, you know my going rate.

BS1983: $7,000, right? Do you have PayPal?

Just Rey: Haha very funny.

BS1983: Or Venmo? I don’t have an account but I can make one if you don’t mind waiting a couple of minutes.

Just Rey: Oh absolutely, my username is the same as my Twitter. I’ll be waiting.

She rolls her eyes, closes her laptop, and extricates herself from the blanket to go wash the wineglass. Her phone chimes an alert a minute later, and she picks it up from the couch on her way to bed and glances absently at the home screen. The alert is from Venmo.

_Ben S. paid you $7,000 for talking._

Rey freezes. With shaking fingers, she unlocks her phone on the third try and opens the Venmo app. There it is again. _Ben S. paid you +$7,000._ She opens Twitter.

Just Rey: What

Just Rey: What are you doing? Are you kidding me??

Just Rey: You just paid me $7,000?

BS1983: Oh good, it went through. I wasn’t sure if I’d done it right.

Rey huffs an incredulous laugh.

Just Rey: You know that that was a joke, right? I didn’t actually expect you to pay me $7,000?

BS1983: Why not?

Just Rey: Because

Just Rey: Because people don’t DO that

Just Rey: They don’t just send a stranger thousands of dollars like it’s nothing

BS1983: It is nothing.

Just Rey: Not to me

Just Rey: Not to the vast majority of people in this world, who ARE you?

BS1983: Your sugar buddy.

Just Rey: SERIOUSLY

Just Rey: I’m sending this money back, hold on

It’s the work of a moment to make the payment: $7,000 to Ben S.

BS1983: Why did you give it back?

Just Rey: No one sends a complete stranger that much money unless they’re insane or they want ridiculously messed up sex

BS1983: I’m not insane, and I don’t want sex. I just want to talk to you.

Just Rey: This is crazy. I’m going to bed

Just Rey: DON’T send me any more money

BS1983: Okay, good night, Rey.

She hits the conversation info icon, and her finger hovers for a long minute over the “Block @BS1983” link.

She closes the app, gets in bed, and turns off the light.

* * *

She tosses and turns and doesn’t get to sleep for hours. When she wakes, the late morning sun is in her eyes.

She pads out to the kitchen to make breakfast. As she eats her eggs, she eyes her phone across the table. She forces herself to eat deliberately, chew and swallow. A gulp of juice. All very civilized.

For about ninety seconds.

Just Rey: Okay but really, who are you? How do you have $7,000 to just send to random people?

BS1983: I have a good job.

Just Rey: I mean, there’s “good” and then there’s “no one should be making that much money, that’s obscene.” Which is it?

BS1983: The latter, probably.

Just Rey: Do you like it?

BS1983: Do I like what?

Just Rey: Your job.

He’s typing for a long time.

BS1983: I don’t know how to answer that. No one’s ever asked me. I’ve never really thought about it.

Just Rey: How do you NOT think about whether you’re happy?

BS1983: I don’t know, I just don’t.

Just Rey: Okay, do it

BS1983: Do what?

Just Rey: Think about it. Are you happy?

BS1983: Right now I am.

It shouldn’t make Rey smile, it really shouldn’t, but it does.

Just Rey: Good

Just Rey: See, I’m worth every penny

Just Rey: I’M KIDDING, DON’T SEND ME MONEY

Just Rey: BEN

Just Rey: BEN SMITH

Just Rey: BEN SAMUELS, ESQUIRE

Just Rey: BEN SWINFORD THE THIRD

Just Rey: Okay, what IS your last name?

BS1983: Solo

Just Rey: That sounds fake

Just Rey: It sounds like a cheesy pickup line

Just Rey: If it really is your last name, I’m about to feel bad

BS1983: It is.

Just Rey: I’m sorry. It’s a lovely name

BS1983: I have to leave for work in a few minutes.

BS1983: I loved talking with you.

Just Rey: BOO, work on a Saturday??

Just Rey: Fine, go make those obscene amounts of money

BS1983: Would you be willing to talk later?

Just Rey: Maybe.

Just Rey: I’ve haven’t had the chance to make fun of you yet for the fact that your initials are BS

BS1983: Well, that will give us something to talk about.

BS1983: Have a good day, Rey.

* * *

Rey goes for a run and shops and cleans her bathroom and has an all-around productive Saturday, mostly because she’s too restless to sit still.

She purposely doesn’t check her phone for most of the day, and it’s not until evening that she opens Twitter.

Just Rey: Ben? Are you there?

The three circles appear promptly.

BS1983: Yes, I’m here.

Just Rey: How was work?

BS1983: Not bad. I had something to look forward to. How was your day?

Rey smiles, she can’t help herself.

Just Rey: I went to Target and bought a soap dish. It was my splurge for the month

BS1983: How much did it cost?

Just Rey: $7,000

BS1983: Rey.

Just Rey: Fine, it was originally $15.99 but it was on sale and I had a coupon.

BS1983: Please let me give you money.

BS1983: PLEASE, Rey.

Just Rey: WOW all caps, mister grammatical?

BS1983: I want you to be able to buy the things you want. Like full-priced soap dishes.

Just Rey: Who says I want a full-priced soap dish? I’ll appreciate that soap dish all the more every time I use it, knowing I got it on sale

BS1983: Do you buy everything on sale?

Just Rey: Basically. I always seem to just miss the sales on rent and tuition, though

Just Rey: BEN, I’m kidding, I’m not saying this so you’ll give me money

BS1983: What if it would make me happy?

BS1983: You’re the one who wanted me to think about whether I’m happy.

BS1983: What if it would make me happy to help provide for you?

Just Rey: I don’t need your charity

BS1983: It’s not charity. I know you can take care of yourself. You’re entirely self-sufficient.

Just Rey: How do you know that?

BS1983: It’s obvious. It’s not everyone who can buy brand-new soap dishes.

BS1983: Rey, I’m not saying you can’t take care of yourself. I’m saying that I have more money than I could possibly spend in about ten lifetimes and I want to make your life a little bit easier.

Tears gather in Rey’s eyes, but she blinks them away.

BS1983: Can I just Venmo you every week? You don’t ever need to do anything. Or keep talking to me if you don’t want to.

BS1983: Even if you never want to talk to me again, I would still be happier just thinking about you spending the money.

BS1983: Rey? Are you still there?

Just Rey: How much?

BS1983: What?

Just Rey: How much would you want to give me?

BS1983: $1,000 a week?

Just Rey: BEN

BS1983: That’s SO much less than $7,000.

Just Rey: You can give me $50.

BS1983: $800.

Just Rey: $70

BS1983: $750.

Just Rey: $65

BS1983: I don’t think you understand how negotiation works.

Just Rey: It’s a limited time offer, take it or leave it

BS1983: Let me give you $300 a week.

BS1983: I know you think that that’s a lot of money, but I need you to know how little it is to me.

BS1983: If I saw three hundred-dollar bills lying on the ground, I wouldn’t bother picking them up.

Just Rey: Why not?

BS1983: Because they’d probably be dirty.

Just Rey: So, this story seems more about how you’re a neat freak than about little money $300 is

BS1983: Rey

BS1983: Please

Just Rey: Just for the sake of argument, say I were to agree.

BS1983: I’m all ears.

Just Rey: This couldn’t be a sex thing

Just Rey: I know you said you’re not looking for sex, but you might feel differently if you’re sending me $300 a week.

Just Rey: I’m being 100% serious about this. I will never trade sex for money. If that’s what you want, this is your out. No hard feelings.

BS1983: I swear I will never ask you for sex, or expect it, or ever try to pursue you in that way.

Just Rey: Or nudes?

BS1983: Like naked pictures? Never. Nothing remotely sexual.

Just Rey: “Naked pictures”? Is 1983 your birthyear, or the year you retired?

BS1983: Is that a yes?

Just Rey: ...

Just Rey: Okay

_Ding_

_Ben S. paid you $300 for agreeing._

BS1983: Sleep well, Rey.

* * *

The next morning, she Googles “Ben Solo.” And when she clicks on the link to the First Order Law website and sees his photo, she realizes her “no sex” rule may have been the biggest mistake of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic will be updated daily. I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/CeliaAnd2)!


	2. Pining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [sofondabooks](https://twitter.com/sofondabooks) made this gorgeous banner! 💕

Rey kind of wishes she could go back and undo that Google search, because now she’s sitting in class thinking about how Ben works in New York and she _lives_ in New York, and $300 can buy a lot of subway tickets. Not so many Lyft rides, but for the chance to see those lips and those eyes and that _hair_ and those _shoulders_ , she’d shell it out.

* * *

* * *

There’s nothing, no answering bubbles that indicate a forthcoming response. For too long.

* * *

Rey is more nervous than she thought she would be, getting ready for their non-date. She wants to look nice, but not _too_ nice, not like she’s actually trying. She finally settles on jeans, a chunky sweater, and winter boots. Screw it, it’s January.

She takes the subway to Ben’s place, thinking the whole way that this is a mistake. They had a good thing going, what if this ruins it? What if he doesn’t like her in real life? She doesn’t want to think about the hole that losing him would leave.

She’s ushered into a highly polished lobby by an impeccably pressed doorman and instructed to go to the 47th floor when she asks for Ben Solo. In the elevator, her stomach knots even more. Maybe she could go back down now and fake appendicitis if the doorman asks why she’s leaving already.

The elevator arrives at the 47th floor unsettlingly quickly, and Rey musters her courage and rings the doorbell.

Ben opens the door, which she probably should’ve expected when she rang the doorbell, but she is _not_ prepared. For how he towers over her. For how he fills up the doorframe. For those lips and those eyes and that hair on the real live man right in front of her.

“Hi?” Ben says, staring like he wasn’t expecting her. Like he’s not sure if she’s _her_ or a Jehovah’s Witness going door to door.

“Was that a question?” Rey asks.

“No, I mean, hi.” He’s still staring.

“Hi,” Rey smiles. “Nice hallway you have out here.”

“Oh, come in,” Ben answers, flustered, as he stops blocking the _entire_ doorway and holds the door open for her to enter.

She wipes her feet on the doormat and shrugs her coat off and hangs it on a waiting coat rack, then slips her boots off before she realizes that might be too domestic. Her walking around his apartment in her fuzzy purple socks.

Ben seems to have recovered somewhat by the time she’s done divesting herself of her boots. He asks, “Do you want something to eat? Or drink? I have a lot in the fridge, or I can order out if there’s nothing you like.”

“Oh I’m sure you have something I like, I’m easy,” Rey says, and blushes furiously as she realizes the implication.

Ben doesn’t seem to notice, he’s too busy making tracks to the starkly charcoal-colored kitchen and opening the fridge. Rey follows.

It’s one of those extravagantly oversized dual-door fridges designed for a family of about 12, so Rey is surprised to see it’s nearly full.

“Do you meal prep?” she asks, leaning against the massive marble kitchen island.

“What?” Ben says. “Oh no, I don’t cook. I didn’t know what you would like, so I ordered a little bit of everything.”

“You got all this for _me?”_

“Of course,” Ben looks confused. “You’re my guest.”

“Be honest, did you spend that $7,000 on food because I wouldn’t let you give it to me?”

Ben smiles, and suddenly, the awkward tension breaks.

* * *

She eats until she’s stuffed (though not in the way she wants to be). Ben puts _Die Hard_ on, but neither of them is really watching it. They’re on the couch, and it’s one of those L-shaped couches with that inviting corner that’s just begging you to snuggle into it, so Rey does. Ben sits a friendly, relentlessly respectful distance away. And they talk.

It’s even easier than texting. Being able to see the little expressions that flit over his face even when he doesn’t realize it. The way the corners of his eyes crinkle when he laughs. The hesitant stiffness of his smile, as if he’s not used to doing it much.

When the movie is done and the DVD menu is just playing over and over, and neither of them cares enough to get up and find the remote, Rey asks what she’s been dying to ask all evening.

“Was I not what you expected?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you answered the door. You kind of froze up there, I didn’t know if you were expecting something else. Someone more... something.”

“No, of course not.” The corners of his mouth turn up, just a little. “You’re _so_ something.”

“Good,” she says, smiling, and burrows into the cushions a little more. “I want you to get your money’s worth.”

* * *

* * *

The follow-up doesn’t come, for so long that Rey wonders if something happened.

Just as she’s turning off the light, the notification dings.

_Ben S. paid you $300 for security._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I CANNOT thank you enough for all the comments and the love. ❤️ Final chapter coming tomorrow!


	3. Resolving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [sofondabooks](https://twitter.com/sofondabooks) continues to spoil me with delicious art! 💕

* * *

They’ve settled into a routine of spending their Saturday afternoons and evenings together and texting the rest of the week. Ben never mentions having to work, and Rey wonders if that first time was a one-time thing or if he’s stopped working on Saturdays for her.

On the fateful Saturday afternoon she stops at a bodega on the way to his place to get ingredients for veggie lasagna.

She arrives with her haul, greets him briefly and makes a beeline for the kitchen so she doesn’t talk herself out of it. She could still use the appendicitis excuse with the doorman.

“Do you have aprons?”

“Um, one.” He rummages through the hall closet for a minute and emerges with a kitschy _kiss the cook_ monstrosity.

 _“That’s_ your one apron?” She gets a better look at it, and it’s emblazoned with big red puckered lips. “Oh my goodness, it’s like my birthday came early. You _do_ realize I’m _never_ going to stop teasing you about this, right?”

“Hey, it was a present from my mother.”

“Ben! That’s even better! You’re secretly a mamma’s boy!”

“Yeah, yeah, just put it on.” He rolls his eyes but can’t hide his smile.

 _“You’re_ the one who doesn’t like to get dirty.”

“I am _not_ wearing this in front of you.”

“Would you wear it for my birthday?”

“We’ll see.”

Making the lasagna takes less time than she expected, mostly because of his fancy food processor that makes hand-chopping the vegetables unnecessary. Rey keeps up a steady stream of chatter to distract herself from the prospect of what she’s planning to do. She insists that they eat at the dining room table to be civilized for once, instead of camping on the couch like they always do. When they’re done, Ben puts the leftovers in Tupperware and Rey washes the dishes while he dries.

She finishes the last of the dishes and turns around to watch him put them away. “I can’t get over that food processor, it’s witchcraft.”

“You should tell Cuisinart you know about their satanic contract.”

“Seriously! Why does anyone even own a knife when that exists?”

“If only you had $300 to spend on something like that,” Ben quips, bending down to stow the Pyrex in its cabinet.

Rey steels herself and says, “Actually, I haven’t spent the money. Any of it. I’m going to send it back to you.”

Ben straightens up sharply as his face falls. “Oh. Do you want to stop...this? Did I do something?”

“No, I love spending time with you. I just can’t spend your money.”

“Why not? I wanted to make you happy.”

“You _do_ make me happy. More than money does.”

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t also spend the money,” he insists, perplexed.

“You haven’t asked me _why_ I haven’t spent it.”

“Why haven’t you spent it?”

“Because we agreed that there would be no sex while you’re paying me. I couldn’t spend the money while I wanted to sleep with you.”

He’s still processing. “I’ve been sending you money for three months. And you haven’t spent any of it?” Rey can see the exact second it dawns on him, from the way his eyes light up. “You haven’t spent _any_ of it?”

“Not. A single. Penny.”

He just gapes for a moment, then closes the distance between them so quickly she thinks he might have teleported.

He _seizes_ her waist and pulls her flush against him, and his mouth is on hers before she has time to breathe. He can’t seem to decide where he wants to touch her the most; his hands rove from her ass to the small of her back to the nape of her neck and back again. She loops her arms over his shoulders and digs her fingers into the muscles of his upper back. He backs her up and it’s only when his hips have her firmly pinned against the counter that his lips leave hers to press scorching kisses down the side of her neck to where it meets her shoulder. Her buries his face in that crook like it’s his paradise.

 _“Wait!”_ she exclaims suddenly, and he springs up to look at her.

“Do you not want this?” he asks frantically.

“I need to ask you something.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you have condoms?”

He actually _growls_ at that, a low rumbling from somewhere in his chest, and scoops her up to carry her to the bedroom. And as she learns first-hand _several_ times that night, he does have condoms.

* * *

She’s not prepared – she couldn’t have prepared – for the way she feels when he’s inside her. The way he hitches her leg up over his hip so he can thrust even deeper, the way he whispers _how are you even real_ , his ragged breaths as he staves off his climax until she comes with a shudder and a cry. She gives herself over to him, lends him her whole self for a while, and he takes everything she offers and thanks her for it, with kisses and murmurs and laughs and breath.

And in between, when they lie temporarily drained and sated, he still can’t stop touching her and looking at her, drinking in her naked body in his bed. And even when her cheeks hurt, she can’t stop smiling.

* * *

She lies on top of him like a blanket, her temple resting on his chest.

He’s stroking her hair. “There are plenty of ways to get around this rule that I can’t give you money now that sex is involved.”

“Oh?” she drowses, too comfortable to move.

“I’m a lawyer, remember, I find loopholes for a living.”

“Like what?”

“Instead of sending the money to you, I could send it straight to your landlord.”

She raises her head to look up at him. “That still counts!”

“Of course it doesn’t, I wouldn’t be giving _you_ money. I have a high personal regard for your landlord.”

“You shouldn’t, he’s kind of an asshole.”

“Then I’ll pay for you to move. Where do you want to live?”

She digs her chin into his chest. _“Ben_ , you spending _more_ money on me is not what we’re trying to accomplish here!”

“Fine, I could eliminate your everyday expenses. I could get you a grocery service. And those, like, toiletries of the month clubs.”

“Are you trying to tell me that I smell?!”

“Right now you smell like me, and I want to keep it that way. I could set up a foundation to give you a scholarship without you knowing it’s from me.”

“That’s actually the best idea you’ve had, too bad you just ruined it by telling me.”

She feels the vibrations when he laughs, and this is _so_ much better than texting.

* * *

* * *

_One month later_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are just the absolute best. Thank you for the love! 💛
> 
>  _Edited to add:_ I had not seen Adam Driver’s SAG-AFTRA [interview](https://youtu.be/RjoFewCQQ2s?t=2571) about Die Hard being a Christmas movie when I wrote this fic. I would like to take this opportunity to announce that I will be quitting my day job to become a full-time Adam Driver-related psychic.
> 
>  _Edited again to add:_ The response to this story has been so overwhelmingly wonderful, I just love you all to bits! For more banter, texting, and smut, feel free to check out my speed dating AU, [Common Courtesy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22237525). I'm also on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/CeliaAnd2).


End file.
